PB and J
by bless-ya-soul
Summary: Having been charged with multiple accounts of 1st degree murder, 17 year old Jeremy Fischer is sent to Fox River Pen, where he is to spend part of his sentence, before being sent to the chair. He meets many familiar characters along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1.0

They separate us from the others. Deemed more dangerous, ruthless, nothing to live for. We are the type of inmates that this system is made for. My name is Jeremy Fischer, and this is my story.

"Guilty!" The judge exclaimed, glaring down at me. They had me shackled, as if they already knew what my sentence was going to be. The jury hadn't taken long to decide my fate. No longer "the land of the free," I was smart enough to know what was coming next. Fucking America.

" You have been charged with over 200 known cases of murder in the first degree. According to law, you will be sentenced to death."

There were multiple gasps. The court room was overflowing with people, many with mixed emotions. Some were crying, some smiled, others just glanced over at me with pity. That's what I hate! You don't know me. I've killed more people than you have friends on your Facebook. Don't give me that look. Apparently the judge had asked me a question, because the room had gone silent, and everyone was looking at me intently.

Common Jerry, no time for stage fright now.

"Ummm yea," my palms are sweaty, I look at my shoes, "uh... wait what was the question?" Shit! I sounded like an idiot.

The judge shakes his head, "Son, I really do not want to have to do this. I've looked at other cases, and talked with colleagues. It's been decided that even though you're a minor, you will be sent to serve the years before your... um.. well.. at Fox River Penitentiary. Court is now adjourned."

I would be lying, if I said that I had expected something different. My lawyer had assured me that because I was under-age, the sentence wouldn't have been as harsh, maybe just life. But death... I can't even drink yet.

It didn't take long before a dozen cameras and microphones were shoved in my face. I was nearly blinded, and knocked around so much, I felt like a bumper car.

My lawyer Bryan shook my hand, " Sorry man. I tried my best. I thought that with giving up some of the bodies, there would be a plea bargain."

"It's alright. I understand. It's been swell Bryan."

They hurried me out of the courtroom, and into a police car. And so it begins, the beginning of the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch.2

"INMATE! Wake the hell up! Get your ass out of bed!" I felt like my head was about to explode. You know, they say a lot about prison, but they never tell you just how uncomfortable the pillows are. Everything else, I can handle. Everything but these damn pillows.

"Yup yup, I'm up," groggy and very confused, I rub my eyes. " Whazup?"

"Inmate, are you giving me lip?"

I realize it's not my favorite CO. Never got this one's name, all I know is he's a huge dick! Even to the inmates in Solitary. Usually the guards just leave us alone. They know its only a few years before we're dead anyway.

" Course not boss."

" Open on cell 202!" He yells to some guy sitting in a metal box, hidden from my view. " We're going to see the Warden." He flashes me a cheeky smile. Its been six months, or so, I can't remember, since I was put in here. My safe, 5x8 cell has actually started to feel like home. Kinda. I begin to panic. I must have done something wrong, my brain begins to go into overdrive. What could it have been? I took an extra apple at breakfast, but I didn't think anyone saw. I swallow hard, and follow the CO down the long hallway.

" Good morning sir." I stammer, trying to put on my best pokerface. Never give in, never give up the truth. I think I heard that in a movie once. I quickly glance at my watch, its 5 o'clock.

" I mean good evening..." He just stares blankly back at me. He motions his hand towards a seat. I take it.

" We've had a few recent issues with some inmates in-" He begins

" I didn't steal the apple!" I exclaim. A surprised look flashes over his face. He begins to laugh. Now that I get a closer look at him, I can see that he doesn't seem like a hard ass. Years of laugh lines, white socks, relatively friendly eyes.

" Well I'm glad to hear that. We don't promote stealing at Fox River." He smiles. I can tell he's read my file, it's written all over his face.

" What I was going to say was due to the lack of individual cells, we will be moving you to Gen. pop. Your excellent behavior so far has warranted you this privilege. Don't make me regret it." Privilege? He knows he's signed my death warrant right? I'm a marked man. I'll be a sitting duck in there. Well this is what I get for being on my best behaviour. Figures.


	3. Chapter 3

"Open on cell 92." 92? Well thats not exactly an unlucky number... Hopefully I don't get some creepy, pedophile celly or I'm done for. 92, 92... that was John Baker. A good man, a family man. Two kids, and a wife, and lots of money. Mo money, mo problems, that's what people say, don't they? I've learned a lot in this business, seen a lot. One things for sure, you can't make shit loads of cash, without catching people's attention. I stumble into my new cell.

"Thanks Jim." He smiles. His name tag says James, but he told me he preferred Jim. He's a good guy, fresh to the job. We've kinda become like buddies, in a way, although these bars will always separate us from sharing a beer.

" No problemo Fischer. You look after yourself in here, eh?" Might I also mention that he was born in Canada. He didn't tell me that, but I've been around long enough to know. All dem long 17 years.

I slowly turn around, afraid of what I'm going to find. I mean I can take care of myself and all, but I was really not down to get into any confrontations. I stare at my new cell mate. He's claimed the top bunk, I wonder if I should make a joke, lighten the atmosphere. " Well that's good," I throw my box of stuff onto the bottom bunk, " I always say I like being on the bottom anyway." I smile. My celly just glares at me and turns towards the wall. I guess he's more of the quiet type. I learn later that his name is Andrè, an extremely overweight, black man, serving time for a relatively modest sentence.

* * *

Things are so different out here in General Population. It's always loud, people yelling, chirping at each other. The shuffling back and forth. To the mess hall, outside, back in, free time, etc. I'm not used to all these people. Who said prison life was going to be easy though, right? It's time to go out in the yard. I follow the crowd, silent, avoiding eye-contact. A black man comes up to me, he's about 6 foot, with make-up and bright pink lipstick on.

"Well hi there! I ain't seen y'all in 'ere before! You're that kid aren't cha?" I smile, look down and continue to walk forward.

"Hey! She asked you a question!" A white man this time, who's obviously not as "stylish" as the other. His make-up reminds me of an old, Italian aunt from the 80's, and he has some long piece of colored fabric wrapped around his head.

" Oh sorry... I was just trying to go outside." I start quickening my pace, gently pushing the guy ahead of me. Another problem with prison (yes, I could write a book titled ) is there's no where to run. I'm a runner, I've been running all my life. I was taught to run, and thats what I did for a living. And you know something, I found that I was really good at it. Until I got caught.

" Where are you off to so fast, baby?" The first one gently brushes my arm with his hand. I shudder. "Ooohhh! Feel his arm. So toned." He winks at me. I pull away, knocking into the man in front of me.

"Hey! What the fuck! Watch where your going nigga. Oh, your just a little guy, a baby. HA!" He pushes me off of him. I turn around and bolt for the door. I push several more people, as the light to freedom gets closer.

"INMATE! No running!" I don't turn around. I just keep pushing my way out the door, besides I'm not really running, more of a light jog really. Finally! I'm outside. I turn on my heels, only to bump into another guy. This time a tall white guy, with a shaved head. He looks smart, definitely a professional. A doctor perhaps, or a lawyer. No, definitely not a lawyer. Not slimy enough. He gives me a light shove, half a smile, and continues on his way to the bleachers. Creepy fact, I know him but he doesn't know me. I met his brother in Block 3.

They separate all of the "death rows" from the other inmates, but not from each other. I guess they figure that we won't pick fights with one another, or maybe they just don't care because we're all going to die anyways. Whatever the reason, meals, yard time, and even church are all held together. Scofield... Thats the guy's name. My friend in 3 told me all about him, thats how I recognized him. I brush off my thoughts, longing for a patch of green grass and a bit of sky. I walk to the farthest corner, away from all the noise and commotion, and lie on my back. The grass feels good against my skin. I put my hands behind my head, and gaze at the sky. I wish I had sunglasses. I squint. Its a warm sunny day, a few clouds, no need for a jacket. Theres no grass in block 3, just concrete. It felt so man-made, trapping you inside its jaws. I've spent the last 6 months gazing at this grass from behind a huge wire fence, longing for some kind of companionship. An old Tom Petty song pops into my head, I begin to hum along. I feel kinda like a hippie, all peace and love, minus the pot. Too bad.

After my little moment passes, I come back to reality. Sitting up, I look around. As can be assumed the prison yard is separated into groups. The black, athletic guys have dibs on the basketball courts, the jocks are in the corner with the weights, the white, trailer trash have the bleachers, latinos in the corner by the fence, and the "women" are sunbathing on the grass a few yards away from me. A few of them wave at me as I stare. I look back longingly at the yard on the other side of the fence, my home. I see Lincoln pacing by the back fence. A few of my other buddies just talk in the usual corner. Suddenly, I notice a small group of guys by the fence on my side, the guy I was talking about before, Lincoln's brother and a bunch of other men. What does a Latino, Professional, Trailer parker, Italian mobster, and black man all have in common? It's not every day that one sees such a diverse group. Don't get me wrong, I'm no racist or anything, this is America for pete's sake, but I am a realist and this seems highly unlikely. Something's up...

I brush it off, but not before I catch "Mobster's" eye. He nudges Scofield, the group turns in my direction. I feel like a little kid, caught with his hands in the candy jar. I don't know why it's so hard for me to keep my cool these days. I've lost my mojo. They're talking about me, and my ears are burning. "Mobster" holding the floor, he brushes off trailer park's apparently stupid comment. He's mostly just talking to Scofield. I'm dying to know what they're saying. The latino gestures in my direction, looking nervous. The bell rings, it's time for some grub. I get up, brush the grass off and start walking towards the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

I feel like I'm in a high school cafeteria. There's a huge line up for food, I get shoved to the back of the line. Some serving lady jams a tray into my hands. I just follow the guy in front of me blindly. Each group appears to have their own table, and I'm dreading the moment when I have to find a seat. No matter, first things first, food. Apparently the food is different in Gen. pop. A little more questionable, if that's even possible. I'm served very efficiently, and am waiting for the lady behind the hot bar to give me a brownie. I see the guy in front of me is a relatively normal looking, white guy. Very young, no older than 25.

"Hey? I'll trade you my brownie for your apple?" He looks down at the apple on his plate, as I get handed an individually wrapped brownie.

" You'd take this over desert?" He gives me a look of disgust, as if i've committed some horrible crime. I just really like apples, thats all. "They were right about you, you are one crazy mothafucka." He laughs, as he hands me the apple.

"Thanks man!" I smile back. " the name's Fischer by the way."

"Yea, I know who you are. Your on the row, aren't cha?" We start walking to a relatively full table.

" um, yea." I look down. For some reason I get a sick satisfaction that he's heard of me. Has heard some of the stories.

" My name's Ace." We shake, he then gestures to the other people at the table, "This is Mac, Slick, Rich, and that's Chuck Norris." The guys at the table laugh.

"Yo shut the fuck up, dick," says "Chuck Norris." "The name's just Chuck. These idiots think they're SO fucking funny."

The other guys all continue to laugh and high-five, as I proceed to poke at some questionable substance with my fork.

* * *

Time passes by so slowly in prison, it feels as though I'm living in a bubble, separate from the world around me. I find myself lying awake at night on my bunk just staring off, thinking of the way things used to be. But I suppose thats the purpose of prison isn't it, to contemplate your life, and the choices you've made. The only difference is I don't feel regret for the things I've done. People just don't typically understand my line of work, let alone know it even exists.

"Wakey wakey sleepy head." It Ace. All the cell doors are open for "free time." Usually used by inmates to argue or socialize, or both. I usually spend it hibernating in my own cell.

" Yo man, wuzup?" He gives me a strange look. I knew this was coming. Like I said before, Free time is also the perfect place to start a riot. One has been brewing for a couple of days now, only intensifying with the last few hours. Weapons get handed slyly amongst different race groups, along with several words of encouragement.

"We just wanted to know that you have our back, is all," he smiles and sits beside me, pushing my legs off the bunk.

"Listen, I'm not looking to get thrown in the SHU or cause any trouble."

"We know you can fight. We've heard the stories. I also saw you talking to some niggas in the yard. You know which group you belong to right, Fish?" His eyes challenge me, he's no longer smiling. " You're a cracker, no oreo-type shit in here." he continues, " listen, I'm just trying to look out for you man."

"I can take care of myself." I snarl, feeling the steam slowly rising within me, just like a kettle about to boil.

" I'm sure you can, which is why I just wanted assurance that you know what side you fight for," He notices a flash of anger cross my face, " If it... uh.. I mean if it comes down to... anything." He's trying to save himself.

" I think you should leave." I get up, and gesture towards the door. Ace stands awkwardly places a red screwdriver beside my pillow.

"Just in case." He begins, "For self-defense, of course." I start to laugh.

"Ight man," I can feel my face start to relax, I feel bad for snapping, "Now get the fuck outa 'ere." I pat him on the back, leading him to the door. For the first time, I realize we aren't alone. There are several guys standing, more like loitering, outside my cell, listening no doubt. I mean if this was outside of a mall, a cop would have eaten it up faster than a box of donuts. "We weren't doing anything," they would exclaim. "Yea right, ya'll think I'm stupid or something?" Busted. Speaking of the devil, there's a CO now. I move away from the crowd, aware that I would look guilty by association.

"Break up the tea party cons. This ain't Boston." I wonder if this CO actually knew any history, would he be as willing to use that reference. The guys give me a few dirty looks, as they reluctantly split up. I wave, perhaps not my maturest moment, but no matter.

I look down the long row of cells on my level. There's Scofield staring blankly at the fella's loitering below. He knows somethings up, I can feel it. I decide this may be the perfect time to introduce myself. I walk towards him, he gaze shifts from the ground below, to me. I smile, and raise my right hand making a peace sign, and my left over my heart.

"I come in peace." He smiles back, but his expression is still unreadable. All of a sudden I'm intercepted by the Alabama scum. I think I had nicknamed him "Trailer park" earlier, but his name is actually T-Bag.

"Well what do we have here." He licks his lips, his face so close to me I can feel his breath on my cheek. I don't pull away, I instead decide to have some fun.

" Same could be said for you, mr. Alabama." I'm used to dealing with shit heads like this one. I try to anticipate his next move.

" Now whats a little fella like you doing in a big, bad place like this, hm? Looks like you may be in need of some assistance, especially if something were to break out.." He's trying to intimidate me, typical.

"And I suppose you'd be the one to protect me?" I ask, smiling. He can tell I'm mocking him. " All 5'8 of you. No muscle, and apparently no brain." While speaking I slowly feel for my pocket. Shit, the screwdriver is still beside my pillow. I sneak a glance to my buddy by the stairs. Chuck Norris is speaking to Ace, but meeting my gaze, and not looking away.

" I suppose its not really your fault though," I start, watching him get angry, his eyes flash a glare, as he fiddles with the pocket hanging from his pants. "In-breeding will do that." He takes a step closer, if that was even possible. He's licking his lips, like a snake.

"I'd watch your self, start treading carefully _boy._" The last word he says with an air of disgust. I lift my eyes, and find Scofield staring at the situation. I start to push past t-bag, frankly bored of the current attempt of harassment, when he steps in front of my path again.

"Tsk tsk," he shakes his head, placing one hand on my chest, " oh no, no prep school, didn't you mama ever teach you to respect your elders?" He chuckles. His accent is beginning to annoy me, I can feel the blood rushing to my clenched fists. The steam is rising.

"Hey!" It's the mobster, Abruzzi they call him. He grabs T-bag's shoulder, pushing him aside so he can face me. "This one's for me." He shoves me into some empty cell to my right. I slam against a wall, I didn't see this coming. I meet Scofield's eyes, he looks concerned. I know that look. Pity. I smile, and wink back at him. T-bag stands in front of the cell, keeping watch, as Abruzzi takes a few steps towards me. There's nothing in his hands, just two fists.

"You know it took me a long time to figure out how I knew you. I knew you looked familiar."

"Haven't you heard, I'm famous." I say with a smile. I remember him, with a prison full of cons, I probably should have seen this coming. Damn. I try looking for a way out, but the asshole has me up against a wall. Just then, he punches me in the gut. I feel all the air get forced from my lungs, as I fall to my knees.

"So I racked my brain, trying and trying to think of how I knew you. Where we met."

"Must have been the hardest you've ever had to think in your life," I struggle from the lack of air. He begins kicking me, I try covering my face. Two unusually large, Italian men, push past T-bag and grab both of my hands, lifting me up against the wall. Abruzzi continues to punch, I look down, my blood is pooling around my feet. He must have gotten a good shot to my nose. I struggle and kick, but it's useless. I see Scofield trying to push past T-bag, "Hey, that's enough."

"Stay out of this pretty." T-bag sneers. He's enjoying this.

"This is between me and him." Abruzzi exclaims.

"And apparently Thing 1 and Thing 2 also," I laugh through bloody teeth.

Abruzzi smiles, "I'm going to enjoy this, you little shit."

"Hey!" T-bag exclaims, banging on the bar as he proceeds to walk away.

The two men drop my arms, I fall to the ground. I feel my head hit the concrete, I smell the strong metallic stench of blood. Abruzzi gets one last kick in my side, before walking away. "This ain't over Windsor." He knows my work name, my alias. I feel my eyes grow heavy, there are several pairs of feet around me. I try fighting the blackness that is starting to devour me whole. There is yelling and a strong pair of hands grab me around the waist, hoisting me up. I feel pain all over my body, and the blackness feels so calming. I try with all my strength not to give in. Never give in, never give up. I know it's useless. I know this darkness, sure it's cold, and lonely, but it's familiar and quiet. It takes me then, deep into the abyss.


	5. Chapter 5

My eyes feel like they're glued shut. I can tell it's really bright outside, but I can't open them. I start to panic.

"It's alright.. you're alright now." A soft voice says to my left, a woman's voice. She sounds friendly, harmless. I feel around myself, my arms are lying by my sides, and I can feel that I'm lying on an uncomfortable, metal table. My muscles feel very sore, and I think I'm going to be sick.

"I'm going to throw up," I stammer, and try to rise.

A gentle hand is placed on my chest, "no, no, your fine. You've just taken a few heavy blows to the chest. You'll be fine."

I relax back down. Honestly, I don't think I could have gotten up even if I wanted to. I bring my hands up to my eyes. There's nothing covering them, and I press down. They're sore and I know there must be bruising all over my face. I try to open them again. I do, slowly, afraid of what might happen next. Thankfully, they open this time. It must be just swelling. My head starts to throb.

" Here," she gives me an unusually large ice pack, "place this over your eyes."

"How long was I out for?"

"Not very long." I peak through the ice pack. She's very pretty, kind eyes, and long brown hair. She's sitting beside me, staring at a chart.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, if that's okay."

" 'Ight, shoot."

"Your name?"

"Jeremy."

"Age?"

"17."

"Mother's maiden name?"

"uhh... um." I tilt my head obviously, towards the chart she's reading, "Henderson."

She pulls the chart away, laughing.

"I wouldn't have known that, even if I hadn't been kicked in the head," I joke.

The door suddenly opens and Scofield walks in, escorted by a CO.

"Is it okay if you have two cons in here, Dr." he asks.

"Yup it's fine, you can wait outside. Michael, take a seat over there, I'm almost done with this one."

" Okay, well I've prescribed you several painkillers and an antibiotic to avoid infection. You'll be fine, just uncomfortable for a few days." she continues.

"Ohh drugs! Hooray," I jest. She flashes me a dirty look.

"Sorry, bad joke." I reply, a bit embarrassed.

"I've requested that you stay in the infirmary. If there's anything you need, even just to talk..." She's giving me that look again.

"I'll be fine, I don't need to stay in the infirmary."

"You know prison violence is a very serious issue.."

I flash a look at Scofield, "It's all good doc. Thanks for the help."

I'm sitting up, struggling to put on my shirt. Meanwhile, she's become preoccupied with Michael. I glance at the table. Insulin? He's diabetic? Burrows failed to mention that during our life chats. I stand and start towards the door.

"Hope we don't see each other soon," I laugh, "Not that I wouldn't want to run into you again." I wink. She smiles back, and pats me on the back, as I near the door. I knock on the window, and the CO turns around.

" Ready for my close-up," I smile.

"Get a move on con, I'm missing the game." he ushers me out the door, back towards the heart of the prison. Towards my possible demise..okay that was a bit dramatic. Maybe just towards my doom.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

Having been escorted back to my cell, I sit helplessly on my bed. I can hear my celly breathing heavily, as if something is lodged deep in his throat.

"Hey!" I call up to André. "Do you know what day it is?" Prison is like a vortex. All concept of time is lost, leaving only "major events" to mark up the day. Kind of like Doctor Who's wet dream, only minus the aliens, and hot girls. (Not that I watch the show..)

"What day is it today?" I call again, getting a bit frustrated.

"Fuck off." He replies. Well, glad to know he missed me. I stand up and look at a calendar lying on the desk. It's Sunday.

* * *

After dinner time, all of the Christian inmates are allowed to gather for mass in the prison church. I'm not a Christian, more of a well-adjusted atheist, but my lawyer Bryan suggested that I should add it to my file. Thankfully I took his advice, which was probably one of the best things I've done in a while. Not because I've recently discovered Jesus, or some nonsense like that, but because it gives you the chance to leave the mundane, and repetitious life of prison. Never thought I would actually be looking forward to going to church. They line us up single-file, and escort us to the Church.

"Alright cons, go save your souls." A CO shouts, and walks away, laughing. His name tag reads "Bellick." We all walk into the musty smelling building, and try to find a seat. I recognize some of my old friends from Block 3 sitting in the far, left section of the church. I decide to test my luck, and walk over to the old pew I used to sit on while I was in 3. None of the COs say anything, so I sit down. Burrows is seated directly in front of me, Martin sits about 4 meters to my left, and Robbie is the same distance to my right. I catch a glance at Scofield, whose staring at me from the other side of the room.

"Hey." I whisper quietly to Burrows, as I "kneel to pray."

"They moved you." He whispered, slumped back in the pew.

" I don't really know why." I reply. " Met your brother.." I can't see Burrows' face, but I know this makes him smile.

"How is he?" He asks, concerned. I don't reply, still a bit bitter about the fight with Scofield's goons the other day.

"You look a bit rough.." He continues with the same degree of concern, referring to my black eye, and puffy lip.

"You don't look any better. Gain some weight, big boy?" I mock. We both laugh, but are immediately shushed by Robbie to my right.

"Jesus freak." I hiss in his direction. Honestly this has been the longest conversation I've had since they moved me from Block 3, so I'd be damned if I didn't enjoy it.

I quickly pull a pen out from my pocket, and drop it down Burrows' back collar. He turns his head in surprise.

"Didn't think I forgot, did you?" I smile. I had broken his pen a while back, so I owed him a new one. Burrows bends down, and slides a prayer book under the pew to where I'm kneeling. I pick it up, finding two letters jammed in the spine. I quickly open it to a random page, and begin to "read."

We don't risk talking anymore, and the mass passes on fairly quickly. I sit back in the pew, deep in thought, reflecting on this week's events. I remember Abruzzi saying he had recognized me. I begin to think about that night, several years ago.

I was fresh on the job, with not very much experience, and clean hands. Most of that night was spent arguing in a dimly lit bar, over several papers, some pints of beer, and two suitcases full of money. I shook the thoughts of that night from my head, as the COs informs us that our "time with Jesus" is over. I think about the two envelopes that are currently burning a hole in my pocket, my curiosity is definitely intrigued. It'll have to wait till I'm completely alone, before I can open them. Who knows when that will be..


	7. Chapter 7

I proceed to follow the huge pile of people, finding a rough line leading towards the door. I get a strange feeling, and the hair on the back of my neck begins to rise. I can hear breathing coming from behind me. Hesitant to turn my head, I continue to press forward through the crowd towards the now setting sun.

"Looks like you've recovered well." A voice says from behind me. He lets out a maniacal laugh and I recognize the voice as the thug Abruzzi. I don't turn around, or even engage, my fists clenched from past anger slowly rising to the surface. My face is turning red, I'm sure of it. I can see James the CO standing by the door, laughing at an apparently funny joke another con had just told him. I finally see my way out. I quickly push through a few bodies, and make my way to him.

"Where you trying to run off to so quickly?" Abruzzi calls from behind me, apparently oblivious to my goal. As I get a few feet from the CO, Abruzzi snickers and backs off, pushing past me as he leaves the church.

I walk up to James, his face lights up, smiling. "Hey Jim!" I hold out my hand, and we shake.

"Well look what the cat dragged in..." He laughs, "I thought I told you to stay out of trouble!" He pats me on the shoulder, following me as we walk out of the church. I take the opportunity to sneak a quick look behind me. The block 3's are being ushered out another door at the front of the church. I catch Scofield's keen eye. He looks like he is thinking hard about something. He face is scrunched into an indifferent frown, but his eyes are locked on me. He follows my gaze towards Burrows, then looks back at me. I turn around because James had apparently asked me a question, that I didn't hear. He laughs and pushes my head. "You fool. Quit daydreaming."

"Sorry," I stammer, too aware that my voice gives away the fact that I'm obviously distracted.

"Go ahead con." He says in a joking voice, as he motions towards the line of other prisoners disappearing into the main building. I send him a friendly salute, as I do a quick jog to catch up with the line.

The line is slowly ushered into the main building, and the cons disperse into their various gangs.

"Yo fish!" Ace calls from above me, on the balcony. He motions with a slight movement of his head, that I am to follow him. I stick my hands in my pockets, and nonchalantly make my way up the stairs and down the line of the cells. He is standing with Chuck in front of my cell.

"It's happening man.." Slick pops out behind me, fidgeting with the bottom seam of his shirt.

"Whats happening?" I look down at his hands and begin to laugh. These guys haven't got a clue, nor would they stand a chance in a prison fight.

I ignore Slick and continue my way towards Ace. "First you ask ME to fight, then you recruit a rookie. Are you trying to get killed?"

"I'm no rookie!" Slick calls from behind me indignantly. He looks hurt, but whats he in here for? Definitely NOT first degree. At most a few drug charges... maybe from the looks of it a hit and run, or manslaughter, but no worse. I begin to laugh, the rest of the group is apparently oblivious to the joke. Maybe I should take another approach, I thought.

"Listen fella's," I begin, gently grabbing Ace's shoulder. "Is this fight truly inevitable? Is it really worth the risk?" I glance towards Slick, the obvious underdog in the group. "Because, assuming you aren't repeatedly stabbed with a rusty screwdriver, or your innards aren't put up for sale on Ebay, things will change not only for you but for everyone. Security will increase, revoked privileges, no more free time..."

"Stop being a selfish pratboy, and help us out!" Slick pushes my back from behind.

"I think you mean FRATboy." I laugh, shaking my head.

"No I mean Prat.. your acting like a prat."

"Okay okay," Chuck intervenes, "Quit yappin.' Jerry's right, but the fight is going to happen whether we like it or not, so let's be ready." He slams the red screwdriver against my chest and pushes past me. He then proceeds to walk along the row of cells to where Abruzzi and his gang are intently watching us.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" He yells to them, as he walks purposefully through their group. They give him a few shoves as he passes, but most of which look friendly. Abruzzi's eyes never leave mine, as I watch the events unfold. I glance across the room to the other balcony, where Scofield and his Puerto Rican friend are whispering as they watch Abruzzi.

"Ight well I'm taking a nap," I say as I push past Ace and walk into my cell.

"Not so fast Nigga'! Give us an answer!" Ace yells, his face getting red. He grabs my collar and leans me against the bars inside my cell. As if by fate, Scofield suddenly emerges behind me on the other side of the bars, so he is facing my captor.

Shocked, Ace lets me go and gives me a glare before leaving. I straighten my shirt, and turn around to face Scofield through the bars. He looks me up and down, and stares intently into my eyes, calculating. What he sees, I'm not sure but as I'm about to fill the awkward silence with a thank you and a probably lame joke, he saves me.

"We need to talk." He says in a low voice, glancing at my celly that is watching us from his perch on the top bunk.

"You want me to get you some popcorn?!" I call up to him, shaking my head. "Some people eh?" I say to Scofield. He doesn't laugh. He actually doesn't say anything but just walks away. I don't follow him and instead sulk on my bottom bunk pulling the two envelopes from my pocket. One is addressed to LJ and the other to Michael. There is a small note attached with gum to LJ's letter. I pull it off. It reads:

Fischer,

I need you to get these to my son and brother as soon as you can. I know I've asked for a lot, but I can think of no one else to deliver them. This is really important! Take my advice and forget about that girl, it's not worth it. Make amends with your family, as they are all you have now. Consider what I said at lunch that one time. You've been a good friend, my prison son. See you after the chair.

Linc


End file.
